Just somebody that I used to know
by Floballs
Summary: Some songs have great memories - friends dancing, drunken parties, singing your heart out down the motorway - but some, well, some are just a bit rubbish. More than a bit. When those lyrics hit home, hit that nerve -that heart string - the one you thought you'd fixed, thought you'd built a bridge over and left behind, GOD does it suck. I'm over it, over him, at least, I want to be.


**So I can't be lurker forever... Here's my first story attempt :) Unfortunately, I don't have a plan, just more of an idea in the making - so I'll have to see where it goes. As a first-timer, I'd love any feedback you have to offer. I love a good bit of angst, so hopefully that that I write turns out well, and the M rating, well, right now that's another idea in the making... PS - I'm english, so any UK typos/ slang, if you wish to ask, feel free. (I'm unbeta'd too.)**

**I don't own any of these things, and I don't claim to, and promise to never do so etc etc... **

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_…Just somebody that I used to know…_

'Urgh, that damn song'

I thought I was over it – over him. It's been years, I've moved on, he has, our lives have: my work life, my home life, my friends' lives, hell even my sex life has found new places (and believe me, I thought the old ones were good…) and still just the memory of those words slays me.

Weeks pass now, occasionally months, without me thinking about him, or our time together. It's not that I could tell you the day I stopped thinking of him, the day I stopped looking for related tweets and status updates, but time passed, and eventually - after no small amount of wallowing, self-pity and questionable choices – I know where I am, and I'm sure it's a place I want to be in my life… So why does a damn song have such impact? Talk about infuriating.

Especially now, I'm running on caffeine fumes, en route to a case conference about one of our residents. Foolishly, I thought the stop at Starbucks would be a quick sugar loaded caffeine fix, instead the shop's music choice has made it a memory f**k that I haven't the time nor energy for.

Sighing, I stand in line waiting for my order to be ready, trying to focus on my work. I'm meeting with a client's social worker, her GP and drugs worker, as you could guess, she's not had the easiest ride these last few months. But Sasha is pregnant now, and suddenly all the authorities are reaching out to help. I can't say it's been an easy ride, gaining her confidence, her trust, persuading her to stay in one place more than a couple of weeks, but I'm proud to say we've got there now, and she's one of our semi-permanent residents.

'Caramel Macchiato, double shot'.

That's me, with a little extra sugar for luck (at least that's what I tell myself), I'm out the door, back on the treadmill that comes with job. Don't get me wrong – do I resent it? No, certainly not. Do I wish I'd chosen differently, and used my science degree in its actual field? Again, negative, but I wouldn't mind a break to catch up with myself from time to time. That being said, my hectic schedule and real interest in work and our residents, is exactly what helped me forget the idiot: it kept my mind busy, and moved my life on, new places, new people, new accomplishments, but still undermined by a stupid record.

Bloody music… Focus Bella, focus. Head in the game, we (Sasha and I, and the team, that is) need this meeting to go well. There's been several 'last chances', and I'm desperate to prove this one worked.

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"Urgh, for Christ sakes, Rose – why do we bother?!"

I dropped my bag with despair, and flopped into a chair in the office.

"Seriously, I mean, why do we bother? Just to have it thrown in our faces time after time."

She span in her desk chair to face me, "Tough day Bell? Look at you, what happ-"

I cut her off, mid rant and gathering steam, "I turn up, I'm fighting her corner, I'm practically singing her praises – 'Sasha's been trying so hard, doing house duties, attending antenatal clinics, talking to me, _really_ opening up'-"

I stopped to puff out a breath, and start pacing,

"_Really_ opening up, with a load of shite it would seem, because she tested bloody positive, didn't she? Positive. All the work, all the trust I was apparently duped into thinking we built. And I'm not the only one. A room of professionals, all giving valuable time and resources to try and back her, to support her, to make sure that innocent little baby has a chance with her mum – her by the way, a little girl – a little girl with damn Meth now coursing through her not yet developed veins."

At this I feel deflated, this tiny little person already being harmed without even entering the world yet. I sink back into the armchair, slightly defeated for a moment.

"Bella", Rose starts, her tone trying to comfort, "You know as well as anyone, it could be worse. I know that doesn't even begin to forgive the lies, the battles we've tried to win, but hey, she turned up to be tested – that's more than we had a few months ago…"

"I know, I know, if anything it shows her honesty – she must've known how that test would show. It was just so deflating. I'll talk to her tomorrow; right now I just want both a stiff drink and my bed, this day can't end soon enough…" - I slump into my office chair, across the room from Rose's – "…Urgh, I even sound melodramatic and awful to myself. Sorry Rose, I'll let you finish up in peace"

"You know I hear you, it's only Wednesday too, just a little salt in the wound. But hey, remember it's Emmett's birthday this weekend, and you are definitely coming – no excuses – his friends are great, you'll have fun, I'm sure of it. Something to look forward to, get us through this daily grind."

I switch on my computer, and turn with a wry smile, "no setting me up with his friends, and I'm in."

She grins in return, mischief dancing across her face, "Of course, but let me tell you, you'll wish you never said it…"

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**I hope to update about weekly, I'm not sure exactly though, so please bear with me.**


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